


Just a Girl

by kitsunerei88



Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:12:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/pseuds/kitsunerei88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lerant's relationship with Kel has, unbeknownst to her, always been complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Girl

**Author's Note:**

> A Wishing Tree 2015 request fic for Glake. Prompts were "Lerant/Kel" (for @Tamari) and "someone in unrequited love with Kel, something poignant preferred" (for max).

Just a Girl

 

The first time Lerant of Eldorne hears about Keladry of Mindelan, he doesn’t think too much of it. He’s sixteen years old, almost seventeen, and he’s just joined the King’s Own in Corus. Keladry is twelve then, he thinks – either way, the entire Palace is abuzz with the news that this girl, the first known girl page in over two centuries, led a team of pages in an attack from bandits. He’s not sure how much of it is true, but at the same time, he doesn’t care; after almost a year of searching, he’s finally gotten a place for himself with the King’s Own, and it’s a best place he thinks he can hope for.

 

It’s not the place he _deserves_ – all things being equal, he thinks he _deserves_ a place in knight-training – but the shadow of Aunt Delia hanging over Eldorne, it’s the best he can get. Life isn’t fair, and that is a lesson that Lerant learned at his father’s knee.

 

A small part of him, a very small part, feels sorry for her. It can’t be easy, knowing that everyone is talking about you, knowing that you are the representative of all girls who would enter knight training. She’s almost like his Aunt Delia, in that way – he hasn’t even met his famous aunt, and yet because of her actions almost two decades ago, all Eldornes are marked as treasonous.

 

He sincerely hopes this Keladry doesn’t fuck it up for every other girl who wants to enter knight training after her.

 

xxx

 

The second time Lerant of Eldorne hears about Keladry of Mindelan, he hates her with the blinding fury of a thousand suns.

 

He remembers the moment distinctly. It’s not as if he hasn’t heard things generally about Keladry throughout his time with the Own. First, she’s bloody famous. He feels like he can’t go a week or two without hearing some new rumour about her. It’s kind of ridiculous – the girl is fourteen, and she’s already as famous as the fucking Lioness or the Giant-killer himself.  And what for? For doing something that was technically legal for the last fourteen years and entering page training. So she’d even done well at it, but so what? So did the Riders. So did the Queen’s Ladies. This wasn’t anything _new_ , so he didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

 

Second, it doesn’t help that Domitan of Masbolle keeps bringing her up. He’s cousin to Keladry’s best friend, and he gets the firsthand accounts of all of her exploits. Really, he had no idea why Nealan of Queenscove would waste so much parchment, but Keladry’s page training and life was really _not that interesting_. Even that bit where she saved her maid – that was just _what nobles were supposed to do._ Lerant would have done the same, and he doesn’t know why this is such a big fucking deal.

 

And now this girl is going to be squire to Raoul of Goldenlake. Taking _his_ duties. And on top of it all, Lord Raoul didn’t even bother to tell him himself, leaving the news to come to him through, of all people, Dom.

 

“He’s never taken a squire before!” he says, interrupting Dom’s conversation with Qasim. They are in the Own’s training grounds – the Own had to be ready at all times, and in quiet moments they were still expected to train, to keep their skills sharp. “Why now?”

 

Dom shrugged nonchalantly. “Ask him yourself,” he says, waving one hand towards Raoul. He catches the look on Lerant’s face, and opens his mouth, but Lerant is gone before he can say whatever it was he wanted to say.

 

It’s not like it could be that important anyway. Lerant is not one for empty platitudes.

 

“My lord!” he says, skidding to a stop before Lord Raoul, who is rinsing his mouth with a cup of water. “Is it true? You’re taking the Girl as a squire?”

 

Raoul raises an eyebrow. “It’s true,” he replies carefully, drawing himself another cup of water and sipping it slowly.

 

“But, my lord, why?”

 

Raoul sighs. “Honestly, Lerant, give her a chance – she’s a good fighter, a hard worker – and she’ll be an asset to the Own.”

 

He doesn’t understand. Lerant doesn’t have a problem with the fact that Keladry’s a _girl_ – he has a problem with Lord Raoul taking a squire at all. Wasn’t the job that Lerant did with Lord Raoul’s horses and gear good enough?

 

“Yes, my lord,” he says, swallowing his fears. Insecurity is not attractive in anyone, and Lerant can’t bring himself to explain.

 

xxx

 

When Lerant finally meets Keladry, she is underwhelming. She’s a lot bigger than he expected, true – unnervingly, the girl stands only an inch shorter than he does. Even with her height, her frame tends towards stocky, muscular. Her face, though, is delicate – clearly she’s never taken a punch to the face, never broken her nose.

 

They are on the Conte Road, stopped for a brief break by the river. Keladry’s swiped Amberfire’s reins and gone to water the horses before Lerant can get there. Annoyed, he stomps over to her, towing Drum and his own horses.

 

“My lord only took you because he felt sorry for you,” he tells her, his voice cold ice. “ _I_ did his chores before you came. I was good at it.”

 

Keladry looks back at him, her gaze calm and level. Up close, Lerant can see that she has a light dusting of freckles across her nose and her eyelashes are too long. Her eyes are a soft hazel, but at that moment they are carefully blank.

 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she replies softly. “If you’ll excuse me?”

 

He doesn’t know what it is about her that, at that moment, bothers him so much. Maybe it’s her expression, so carefully cultivated not to show any emotions. Maybe it’s the tone of her voice, soft enough to sound apologetic, yet her words are hard. Maybe it’s just the fact that she’s here, in front of him, holding Amberfire instead of him. In any case, and against his own better instincts, he grabs her arm.

 

“Watch your step, _squire_ ,” he growls. “Just because Wyldon didn’t have the brass to get rid of you doesn’t mean _we_ won’t.”

 

He’s not entirely sure where that comment comes from, either, because he’s never been a conservative. Really, it was opportunistic –just what came to his mind. He doesn’t regret it.

 

Keladry flexes her arm, and Lerant is grudgingly impressed as she breaks out of his grip. “Excuse me,” she says, her voice still soft, but her posture anything but.

 

He snorts, turns around, and leads Drum to the river.

 

xxx

 

His opinion of her is raised, slightly, after Haresfield. Despite the fact that he sent her to the Captain’s wine jugs instead of the water service, and she gets in trouble (which was, of course, his intention), she doesn’t give him up.

 

He regretted sending her for the wine only a couple minutes after he did it. It was short-sighted, stupid – if she hadn’t been stopped, she would have been in trouble, but he would have hurt or embarrassed Lord Raoul at the same time, and he never wanted that. At least Noack, then Sergeant Osbern set her straight before it could get to Lord Raoul.

 

But Lerant wants to know _why_ , which is why he’s standing here, past midnight, in the hallway of the inn where he is _not_ supposed to be, hissing at the girl.

 

Eventually, she hears, and turns to look at him. She can’t see him, though; the lamps have burned too low for that. She unsheathes her sword, and slips over on stockinged feet. Some men, Lerant thinks, would be frightened, nervous, offended, but not him – it’s exactly the thing he would have done, if he were Raoul’s squire. Someone hissing in the dark, pulling her away from her knightmaster’s door, could be a distraction for an attempt on Lord Raoul’s life.

 

He sees the moment that she realizes it’s him, and watches with approval as she keeps her guard up on her sword. “What do you want?” she snaps, her tone a far cry from this morning’s softness. Her eyes are tired, and Lerant knows that she has no desire to deal with his shit tonight. He glares at her, trying to find the words to begin. A second, two, tick by in silence, and Kel sighs, turns away.

 

“No, wait!” The words burst out from him, unwilling whispers. She turns back to him, and her lips are pursed in annoyance.  He sighs, just blurts it out. “Why didn’t you tell?”

 

“Tell what?” she asks, but in her voice, at this hour, it sounds more like a statement.

 

“Come on,” Lerant replies, frustrated. “I heard Osbern set you straight. You didn’t tell him who steered you to the packs, or he’d have had me up before Flyn.”

 

“You couldn’t ask in the morning?” she demands. Her hazel eyes, tired as they are, shine with anger. Lerant finds he doesn’t care.

 

“I want to know now!”

 

She blows out a heavy, aggravated sigh. “I don’t tell on people,” she says. “Good night.”

 

She turns away resolutely, walks down the hall, sheathes her sword and crawls into bed.

 

Lerant watches her retreat, and finds he doesn’t really hate her anymore. He doesn’t like her, but he doesn’t exactly hate her, either.

 

xxx

 

Lerant isn’t sure when “doesn’t like” turns into “like”, on a purely friendly level, of course. Part of it probably happens throughout the bandit hunt, because Lord Raoul is right. Kel is a good fighter, a hard worker. More than that, Kel doesn’t complain. She doesn’t complain about being given scut work, she just does it. When Captain Flyndan posts her on a little used goat track, she doesn’t complain, as much as Lerant can tell she would like to be in the main fight. Perhaps he is just being resigned to her presence, but overall – it could be worse.

 

Then the griffin comes, partly through Kel’s own stupidity. Reaching into an unmarked, screaming bag, really? The only reason he isn’t heaping more contempt on her is because he knows that, in the months that follow, Kel is cursing herself far more than anyone else is blaming her. The griffin is a little monster, requiring far more care than any of the Own’s falcons or dogs, and yet Kel puts up with it without complaint. Lerant feels sorry for her, and keeps doing Raoul’s smaller chores. Partly, of course, he does them because they were _his_ job before she came, but he also does it partly because he knows that if he didn’t do them, she would, and she seemed to have barely enough time to do her own training and take care of the little monster.

 

If he thinks his actions are a little too soft-hearted, it’s forgotten almost as soon as they return to the Palace. Somehow, all the rumours that had been flying around for years hit harder, now that Lerant knows the person behind them.

 

The rumours generally fall into three categories.

 

In the first category, Kel is a slut, or some variation thereof. It just isn’t _proper_ , morally, one girl among so many boys and men.  And surely, a woman training with men would be _distracting_ , wouldn’t she? As far as Lerant was concerned, the first category of rumours, thankfully the smallest, didn’t even make sense. As a page, Kel was all of ten years old – anyone with sense could see that she had grown up with her page mates, that they were more likely sibling-figures than romantic entanglements. Even now, among the Own, Kel is all of fifteen years old! While Lerant knows, conceptually, that noblewomen are marrying at that age, the concern doesn’t really make sense in Kel’s case. They liked her in the Own, sure – but not like that. And anyway, there were men who preferred men – why didn’t they get any of the same rumours? Maybe, very simply, everyone knew what behaviour was considered appropriate in each situation?

 

The second category of rumours emphasizes Kel’s lack of physical ability. Kel is a girl, a budding young woman – surely she cannot be as strong as the men. They are simplifying, changing the page, and then the squire, training to guarantee her success. She isn’t strong enough to complete it on her own, because women are simply not as strong as men are, especially in their arms and shoulders. Lerant dares any of those rumour-mongers to join them in the Own and watch for themselves; or better yet, for them to get into armour and joust Lord Raoul over it. He ends up getting his wish for the latter – Lord Raoul does joust many more conservatives than he would have normally.

 

The third category is for the hero-worshippers. With these rumours, Kel is already legend. She has already completed great things, and is going to do even greater ones. Lerant hears, more times than he can count, the story of the Battle of the Cliff. Each time he hears it though, it’s changed – at first, the Battle of the Cliff is Kel and some of her page friends, facing off against perhaps two dozen poorly-fed bandits and holding out until help arrives. Then it turns to two dozen bandits, then twelve dozen bandits, then twelve dozen bandits with shining swords and immortality.  Merely holding out until help arrives turns into narrow defeat, turns into total upset, so at the end of the story Kel alone has defeated a hundred armed and skilled bandits with nothing more than her spear.

 

Of the three, Lerant hates the last group the most. Kel is just a person. Not a hero. Not a goddess. A tough, kind, hard-working, intelligent and loyal person, but still a person nonetheless.

 

Just a person.

 

So Lerant likes her, and because he likes her and figures that she has far too much on her plate anyway, he keeps doing most of Lord Raoul’s chores. Which he also does, of course, for his own, very selfish reasons too.

 

xxx

 

Lerant is very clear on the moment that _like_ turns into _love._ It’s a stupid thing, really – a stupid, embarrassing thing.

 

Lerant’s been caught on his way back from the men’s privies by some of the more conservative knights. It’s an odd thing, that – Eldorne was once among them, so he knows them well. Sir Ansil of Groten, perhaps ten years older than himself; Sir Voelden of Tirrsmont, the heir to Tirrsmont; and Joren of Stone Mountain, a younger man clearly their ideological successor.

 

He eyes the three of them warily, at first. At one time, certainly, they were allies. Both Tirrsmont and Eldorne had been implicated in the rebellion; Sir Voelden’s own brother, Henrim, had served as squire to Alexander of Tirragen and had been equally treasonous. However, Henrim being, at the time, a youth, the shame that befell Tirrsmont was understandably less.

 

“Groten, Tirrsmont, Stone Mountain,” he acknowledges them slowly, nodding his head. “A good morning to you.”

 

Tirrsmont snorts. “Eldorne. You’re in our way.”

 

Lerant raises his eyebrow, glancing around him. “Plenty of space for us all, Tirrsmont,” he replies.

 

It’s the wrong thing to say, and even though Lerant knows they were looking for a fight, he doesn’t back down because, disgraced or not, he, too, is a noble. And nobles don’t make way for other nobles. When Tirrsmont shoves him to the ground, he gives as good as he gets.

 

It’s then that Kel interrupts, as inelegantly as she goes about it, defending Lerant’s honour while covering it up with words about Lord Raoul. As vociferously as Lerant protests, as embarrassing as this whole situation is, five minutes later Kel has herself a joust against Sir Ansil of Groten.  And when, against all odds, she _wins,_ she doesn’t even hide the fact that she was really interrupting to defend him, and he takes a visit that night from a very aggravated Sir Ansil of Groten and accepts, as graciously as he knows how, his apology.

 

Lerant can’t tell whether he should be furious, embarrassed, or pleased, but instead feels a strange mix of all three.

 

He does, actually, slap Groten later for his own challenge. Groten, in a moment of sheer stupidity, chooses swords, which is very convenient because the sword is the only weapon Lerant actually knows well, and Lerant collects himself an additional five crowns for his trouble.

 

But from that moment on, Kel is special.

 

xxx

 

The next two and a half years are both wonderful and torturous. They are wonderful because he, as standard-bearer, has an excuse to be close to Kel. The standard-bearer traditionally stays close to the Commander, Lord Raoul, as does the knight’s squire. They spend hours upon hours of completely platonic time together, particularly when the Scanran War begins and they spend months isolated, in the north, preparing for the Scanrans to come. They are wonderful years because he gets to watch Kel grow, both as a woman and as a soldier, and because he gets to watch her soft hazel eyes when they crinkle in mirth, or her full lips when they quirk him a smile. It is truly the little things, the stolen moments that he treasures, that make those two years wonderful.

 

Those years are also torturous, though, because Lerant can’t say anything about it. He isn’t a fool – as much as he likes her, as much as he is the oldest son of Eldorne and as much as he will, one day, become Lord Eldorne – she is out of his league, and he cannot court her. First, she is a squire – it would be completely inappropriate, and it would fulfill that the rumour-mongers deepest wishes, and would probably be a black mark against lady knights in the future. And second, even if she became a knight, became free, and he was able to court her, what then? Kel would then be associated with him, with treason, with the stigma against his own house.

 

He can’t let that happen to her, so he says nothing and does nothing differently than he did before. Life isn’t fair, and Lerant of Eldorne has learned that lesson at his father’s knee.

 

So when it’s time for Kel to face her Ordeal, he’s already come to terms with it. She’ll survive. She’ll become a great knight. And she’ll leave him behind, in the Own, and he’ll move on, eventually.

 

He goes up to her as she’s saddling Hoshi in the stables and claps her casually on the shoulder, as if she’s one of the men. He hasn’t done that before, very rarely had any sort of real, physical, contact with her and the feeling is a shock. Kel, however, doesn’t seem to notice. “Good riddance,” he tells her. “Don’t mess up your Ordeal. If you do and you come back here for a place, I’ll have to hurt you.”

 

Kel smiles at him, then, a bright, easy grin that is so different from Lerant’s first impressions of her. “Now that I’ve shown you how, look after my lord when he gets back,” she retorts, and swings herself into the saddle. Lerant gets out of the way and follows her, and Lord Raoul, to the gates, where the rest of Third Company is ready with their goodbyes.

 

Keladry of Mindelan will become a great knight, and Lerant of Eldorne will stay the solemn, sarcastic standard-bearer of the Third Company of the King’s Own. And maybe, one day, they’ll meet again many years later, and maybe, just maybe, things will be different then.


End file.
